


Dominus

by QueenForADay



Series: The Wolf and the Shrike [7]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Assassin Jaskier | Dandelion, BAMF Vesemir (The Witcher), Blow Jobs, Blow Jobs in a Car, Bottom Jaskier | Dandelion, Cock Cages, Cock Warming, Dom Vesemir (The Witcher), Dom/sub Undertones, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Minor Aiden/Lambert (The Witcher), Mob Boss Vesemir, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, POV Jaskier | Dandelion, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Power Dynamics, Public Blow Jobs, Punishment, Rough Oral Sex, Sub Jaskier | Dandelion, Tease Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Tease Jaskier | Dandelion, Top Vesemir (The Witcher), Witchersexual Jaskier | Dandelion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-19 07:08:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29622510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenForADay/pseuds/QueenForADay
Summary: It starts with a text. Most things tend to, these days. Jaskier barley blinks as the light from his phone spills on to his face. His Wolf is away, and without him around to bother and pester, there isn’t much else for him to do except lounge around the house.Until his phone buzzes while he’s sprawled across the couch in the living room, not quite watching some late-night show serving more as background noise than anything else.White Wolf [21:49] – Vesemir is in town for the night.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion & Vesemir, Jaskier | Dandelion/Vesemir, Jaskier/lambert
Series: The Wolf and the Shrike [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2092515
Comments: 16
Kudos: 137





	Dominus

It starts with a text. Most things tend to, these days. Jaskier barley blinks as the light from his phone spills on to his face. His Wolf is away, and without him around to bother and pester, there isn’t much else for him to do except lounge around the house.

Until his phone buzzes while he’s sprawled across the couch in the living room, not quite watching some late-night show serving more as background noise than anything else.

**White Wolf [21:49] – Vesemir is in town for the night**.

Jaskier arches an eyebrow. Geralt has been irritatingly distant with him today. Not that Jaskier hasn’t tried blowing up his phone with messages. He has. Strings of them left behind, seen and read, but not replied to. His last attempt at luring Geralt’s attention away from whatever business he’s on didn’t end well, so his plan to root out Lambert puts itself into the trash. And he’s sure Geralt has Eskel too whipped to do anything but text him, asking if what Jaskier is asking if okay. And then it’s back to three weeks of Jaskier being starved of everything he could ever want.

This is the first text Geralt has sent him all day. _This_ one. Why?

Jaskier sighs, adjusting himself on the couch. It’s deep enough to hold him comfortably as he’s stretched out along it, propped up with soft pillows and blankets half-strewn around to create the perfect nook for him to wait until his wolf is back. As more hours drift by, it’s looking less and less likely that Geralt will be back home anytime soon. He taps out a quick text. 

_Shrike [21:49] – Good for him. Why are you telling me about it?_

Geralt’s reply is quick. Another thing that draws a puzzled look from Jaskier. Whoever he is meeting mustn’t have that good of a hold on his attention if he’s texting Jaskier. And whoever it is that’s across some bar booth table from him won’t say a thing, because he knows what happened to the last person who sneered at the White Wolf for letting his attention drift back to his little songbird perched at home.

**White Wolf [21:52] – I’m sure he would like some company.**

_Ah._ The corner of Jaskier’s lips quirk. There’s a silent question left to Jaskier. One he’s quite happy to answer and act on as quickly as he can.

_Shrike [21:53] – I’m sure he would. As a matter of fact, I happen to be free for the night. _

_Shrike [21:54] – Seeing as though my current bedmate has found himself in the lair of another._

Teasing, nothing more. Teasing that lures bared teeth and a lifted lip out of Geralt. Something that he would delight in seeing, if the White Wolf was here in front of him. Geralt’s reply comes quick. Jaskier barely manages to catch his laugh between his teeth.

**White Wolf [21:54] – Attitude like that gets little birds put in cages. Vesemir will be at the house in fifteen minutes. Have yourself ready. **

Jaskier eyes glint as he catches his lip between his teeth. A furl of pleasure coils in his core at the thought of it. He pulls himself up from his nest of pillows and blankets, planning

**White Wolf [21:55] – Another thing; get Lambert. He’s driving. **

He can’t stop that laugh. The one that lurches out of his throat and rings around the room. _Poor little wolf_ who, to the best of Jaskier’s knowledge, still has been kept leashed and at heel by a certain Cat. Jaskier might have gotten his freedom, but he knows that Lambert hasn’t. And every day that passes, the coil of tension tightening his shoulders and neck grows more taught.

He can’t run upstairs fast enough.

* * *

Jaskier sees so much of Geralt in Vesemir, it’s startling. Where one ends and the other begins, he’s really not quite sure anymore. Years of tutelage and living under the same roof are becoming painfully apparent. Certain mannerisms stay the same, while others, Jaskier delights, are as different as day and night.

He imagined Vesemir would have his own wolves prowling the shadows around him. And he did, for a time. Wolves that kept their eyes on him as he strolled down the driveway to the awaiting car parked on the curb. One wolf standing out in the cold opened the car door for him, his other hand firmly kept on a sheathed gun by his side. Jaskier’s lips quirk in a smile. He likes to think that the fear and reluctance Geralt’s house had of him waned over the weeks of him living there. When it became apparent that the White Wolf’s newest songbird didn’t want to kill him, but kill for him, most hackles settled.

Though, this used to be _Vesemir_ ’s house; and he can’t imagine that the Old Wolf can ever be too careful. Smart men stay alive.

An almost smothering mix of scent coats his roof the second he slips into the car. Leather and cologne, mostly, that sting the inside of his nostrils and almost choke him. Vesemir drains the last of his whiskey as Jaskier settles beside him, looking around the car. It’s not unlike the ones at the house. Blacked out windows that he’s sure are bulletproof, along with the doors and frames. Ample space in the back to let his legs stretch out, with a small stocked bar of what he can only presume are Vesemir’s favourites. Geralt hoards as much Skellige whiskey as he can, with a few bottles of choice wine and spirits for Jaskier.

The Old Wolf hums. “Little bird,” he lilts, holding out a hand. Jaskier’s slips into his, and he barely holds back a shudder threatening to shake through him as Vesemir brings it to his lips, pressing a chaste, quick kiss to his skin. Even in the dim glow of the streetlights outside stretching in through the car windows, Jaskier catches the glint in the man’s golden eyes. His lips don’t wander too far away from Jaskier’s skin, letting his words breathe over him and prickle gooseflesh. “Have you been well-behaved since we last spoke?”

Jaskier flashes him a smile. “Of course, sir.”

Vesemir huffs a laugh, keeping possession of Jaskier’s hand as he settles it on his thigh. And Vesemir is warm. The car is well heated, keeping out the worst of the oncoming winter’s chill. But in only a pressed shirt and slacks, polished shoes and a blazer jacket neatly folded to one side of the car, Jaskier can only presume that they won’t be dealing with going outside. A good thing, considering his own outfit of a fitted tee and jeans; clothes that cling to him in a way that draws Geralt’s eye, letting them linger on every stretch and curve of his body.

Vesemir has more control over himself, it seems; even when Jaskier lounges sideways in his seat, turning into the older man and reaching out with his other hand. He runs his fingers along Vesemir’s exposed arm. It’s a touch that’s allowed, but Jaskier watches golden eyes flicker down to his fingers, keeping them in sight and their path over his skin.

His ears twitch at the sound of shuffled footsteps outside. The driver’s door pulls open and Lambert falls in with a grunt, tossing his jacket into the passenger seat and muttering something or other under his breath.

The Old Wolf prickles. “Manners, pup,” he says, a light growl rumbling through his words.

Jaskier watches. Though he can only see the back of Lambert’s head, he sees the younger man stiffen slightly as he fumbles with his keys. He’s stubbornly tight-jawed for a moment before he grunts. “Where do you want to go?”

There’s a quiet moment that stretches out between them. One that is mostly spent with Vesemir glaring to the front of the car, no doubt planning on contacting Lambert’s Cat and informing him of his behaviour – not even a minute into their night. The corner of Jaskier’s lip quirks. For all the chaos and carnage he’s capable of causing, and dragging others into it with him, this is all on Lambert. He lifts his chin. “I hope we aren’t disturbing your evening, Lambert.”

Sharp brown eyes catch his in the rear-view mirror. Lambert’s lip lifts as he snarls. “You don’t give a shit about _my evening_ , you pampered little twink—”

“Is that how you speak to your boss’ bird, pup?” Vesemir’s face is dangerously impassive. There’s a slight tension in his jaw. Anger and something else held back behind an imposing facade. Golden glared eyes hold Lambert’s through the mirror, showing no sign of backing down.

Lambert’s jaw flexes as he bites back whatever else he had to say. He swallows thickly, before shifting his gaze to Jaskier. “Apologies,” he says, with a barely concealed sneer. And Aiden is _definitely_ getting a report of his wolf’s behaviour. Jaskier struggles not to smirk at the sight of the young wolf digging his own grave deeper than it needs to be.

The worst of the tension in Vesemir’s body slowly seeps out of him as he rests back against his seat, squeezing Jaskier’s hand. “Somewhere quiet, I think,” he muses for a moment, turning to the little bird perched nearby. He reaches up, catching Jaskier’s chin between his thumb and finger. “What do you think, little bird?”

He can’t stop the wave of pleasure that trembles through him. Memories of the Old Wolf’s house blink before him. If he only has Vesemir for the night, then he’s going to make the most of it. A smile curls along his lip. His eyes wander down to the man’s lips, wondering what sounds he’ll lure out of him. “Whatever you like, sir,” he lulls, curling an arm around Vesemir’s.

He’s sure another set of golden eyes are on him. Lambert’s breathing stills for a moment. Keys fumble and clink together before the car starts and pulls away from the house. Apparently Lambert has a _quiet place_ already in mind. There are a few frequent haunts. Certain shielded areas of downtown and up in the hills where they won’t be bothered. All Jaskier can do is take in as much of the man’s scent as he can, letting it sit at the roof of his mouth and almost suffocate him.

Fingers trail and map whatever the Old Wolf can reach. Jaskier’s bared arms, mapping his softened and warm skin from an earlier bath. He tries his best to relax when Geralt is gone, passing the time in whatever way he can. But there are only so many hours Geralt can be away before Jaskier’s hands start to wander.

He isn’t as stretched as he once was. And from his lounge in the bath, he eyed their bedside locker for a moment. Plugs of all different sizes that would keep him stretched and ready for Geralt whenever he trailed back home. He thought against it. Though now, with a wolf near and watching him with a gleam to his eye, he _really_ wishes that he had plucked something out of their drawer.

* * *

_Somewhere quiet_ is a secluded nook in the Kaedwen mountains – an overlook that breaks through the forests and rocks, giving walkers and hikers a scenic view of the boroughs stretched out in front of them. The glow of the cities and their buildings seep into the dark sky above, but just beyond that, the stars blink and the moon shines down on the boroughs. It’s a clear sky, making the air cold and crisp.

Not that Jaskier would know about it. The car is searingly hot as he can feel sweat starting to bead and stick his hair to his nape. Firm, thick fingers curled into his hair, holding him steady, tighten as he’s drawn back up the length of Vesemir’s cock. His lips are stretched thin, curled around the familiar thickness of the older man.

He hasn’t stopped thinking about it; that night in the Old Wolf’s den. Even when Geralt has him lain out in their bed, plying him with fingers and lips, fucking him into the mattress and soaking their sheets with their mixed and entangled scent, images and smells and sensations will flood back to him. How Vesemir’s fingers felt curled in his hair, how the man’s cock felt on his tongue and stuffed into his mouth.

Jaskier moans around him. The familiar feeling is back and his eyes roll. There’s a breathless laugh above him. “Pretty little thing,” Vesemir rumbles, guiding Jaskier’s mouth back down around him. He doesn’t have to move Jaskier. He doesn’t even have to lift his hips or rock into the man’s mouth. Jaskier’s tongue laves and brushes along the underside of Vesemir’s cock, feeling the head of it brush the back of his throat. _Gods alive_ , he loves this.

His eyes water as he tries to hollow his cheeks. His movements up and down the man’s cock are slow and measured. Vesemir has him for the night – or until he decides to drop him back home again. He can’t imagine Geralt coming to take Jaskier back while Vesemir has him. And Jaskier doesn’t particularly want to leave. The smell of them both mixing is intoxicating, luring sounds out from him, muffled around the length stuffed into his mouth.

A long, content sigh leaves Vesemir. His head tilts back against the headrest, letting his eyes drift shut as he feels Geralt’s little bird choke and still around him.

Jaskier’s throat works what he can, struggling to catch his own breath but opening up to take whatever else he can fit into his mouth. His nose settled against the folds of Vesemir’s slacks, and every breath Jaskier pulls in is tinted with the suffocating scent of _Vesemir_.

“Hands on the wheel, pup.”

A moan trembles out of him, around the cock he’s holding in his mouth. His jaw aches. He can’t look up at Vesemir, but he can imagine that his eyes have opened. They’re not alone in the car. He knows that there are wolves prowling the shadows outside, keeping eyes on the forest and hills around the outlook. But the car shifts slightly as Lambert sighs something strained, keeping his eyes locked on the city in front of him and _not_ at the rear-view mirror.

The partition is open. Jaskier made no move to close it, and he didn’t hear it slide shut. Vesemir plied him with kisses and touches, gentle hands wandering and seeking out Jaskier’s hand to set to the buttons of his slacks. And he’s been held on Vesemir’s cock ever since.

He tries to move. He’s twisted in an odd angle, but as he lets his hips drop, his cock grinding against the firm leather of the seat below him, the fingers settled on the small of his back dig into his flesh. Wormed underneath the hem of his shirt, at least _something_ of Vesemir’s is touching him. Heat blooms through the tips of the man’s fingers, burrowing into Jaskier’s back and down along the swell of his ass. Gods, what he wouldn’t give to have those fingers in him again; plying him apart, finding him giving relatively quickly. He wants to smirk against the Old Wolf’s jaw, set his lips to the man’s ear and lull what he can as he grinds his hips over him.

Lambert won’t mind.

The fingers in his hair gentle. Vesemir smoothes a hand along the back of his head, letting Jaskier bob slightly. The drag of his lips around Vesemir’s cock, the wet heat of his mouth, tight and firm sucks; Vesemir hums. Jaskier hasn’t managed to crack him. The Old Wolf is painfully put together.

Something snags his chest as he feels the man’s fingers drift down along his back. He still has jeans on; already tight around him, but even more so with his cock straining against the front. It’s nothing like how he felt at Vesemir’s house, but he can feel something coiling tight inside of him.

“Eager little bird, aren’t you?” Vesemir lulls, lifting his hips to push his cock further into Jaskier’s mouth. Jaskier groans around him, the head of it pressing against the back of his throat and almost choking. Any sound that slips out of him isn’t quiet; and he’s never been shy. Coën, gods bless him, knows when to pull the partition closed the second Jaskier throws a leg over Geralt’s lap. Lambert and Eskel have had their own encounters with Geralt’s little bird, so who is he to turn into a blushing maiden now?

He can feel his face warming with colour, but not with shame. He would give anything to catch a glimpse of what Vesemir is seeing; a desperate Lambert with a white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel, ignore the dull throb against the front of his jeans.

_Poor thing_. Spit pools around the base of Vesemir’s cock. Jaskier curls his fist around whatever he can’t fit inside of him. Vesemir doesn’t stop him. If anything, it lures the first sure moan out of the Old Wolf’s throat. And Jaskier _delights_.

Some fragment of his mind lingers on Lambert, sitting stock still in the driver’s seat of the car, thinking about _literally anything else_ other than the noises coming from behind him. Jaskier’s fist tightens around Vesemir, working with his mouth to slowly wringing more and more sounds out of the Old Wolf. He’s a quick learner, figuring out what Vesemir likes so he can apply it. And a firm memory from the other night sits with him. He pulls off Vesemir’s cock, keeping the head rested against his bottom lip. He tilts his head slightly, blearily and tear-brimmed eyes meeting Vesemir’s curious look. “Fuck my throat,” he rasps, mouthing kisses just under the head of Vesemir’s length. A bead of precum catches his lip. With his free hand, he catches one of Vesemir’s and sets it to the back of his head. The man’s fingers curl through his hair in a familiar tight hold. Jaskier groans as his mouth is stuffed again.

Vesemir grunts. The first sure roll of his hips has his cock hitting the back of Jaskier’s throat, the wet heat around him intensifying as he fucks up into it again and again. His breath comes ragged within a few thrusts. “Filthy little whore,” he growls.

Jaskier’s eyes roll to the back of his head. Pleasure washes over, threatening to drag him under and let him drown. Geralt has growled words at him before, against his jaw or into the hollow of his neck. When Jaskier has pushed him to teeter along the edge again, testing the resolve of his patience. Vesemir’s voice takes on a deeper timbre; trembling through him like thunder.

Vesemir’s fingers knot in his hair, pushing him on to every sure thrust of his hips. “Going to wreck that voice of yours,” he grunts. “Geralt’s songbird isn’t much use to anyone if he’s got no voice. _Fuck_ , just some wet holes for my boys to use. Is that it, little thing?”

Jaskier moans around him. His hand tightens on the base of Vesemir’s cock, catching any spit and slickening his way. His hips grind against the seat underneath him. It earns him a firm swat to the swell of his ass. “None of that,” Vesemir snarls. The fingers in his hair tighten as he’s stilled, the head of Vesemir’s cock just caught between his lips. He whines. A sound that slips out of him before he can even think of trying to swallow it. “Gods alive, Geralt really does have to keep you on a tight leash. Some training would do you good, boy.”

There’s a sharp snort from the front of the car. “You’d have a better chance at taking blood from a wall,” Lambert grunts, keeping his eyes on the horizon. His fingers must ache from gripping the wheel as tightly as he is. Jaskier can’t see him. He would give anything to be able to. But he can feel how thick the air has gotten with dull, mixed scent of them.

Vesemir’s eyes glint as he meets Lambert’s eyes through the rear-view mirror, glaring down at the younger man. “That’s enough attitude out of you, pup.” His lip lifts. “One more remark and I’ll let that Cat of yours know to add another week to your punishment.”

And Jaskier can hear Lambert’s breath catching his throat. He remains silent, staring out at the city before him and praying every god he can remember the name of that Jaskier’s talented mouth can just get the job done so he can go back home.

The Old Wolf tilts his head, holding the man’s gaze through the mirror. “I hope you’ve been good for him, pup. I hate to be so strict with you, but sometimes you can be a bratty little thing.”

The corners of Jaskier’s lips quirk into a smirk, stretched around Vesemir’s length as he sucks as best as he can. Thrums of pleasure wash over him; images reeling in front of him of Vesemir still looking more put together than anyone else in the car. Even with a slight occasional hitch in his breath, his fingers tightening around the locks of hair to the back of Jaskier’s head, and the sure roll of his hips, he’s still able to bite down on his own growing pleasure in an effort to snarl some sense into his youngest pup.

Lambert’s hands stay on the wheel – where Vesemir can see them. His cock aches through his jeans, Aiden’s cage an immovable tightness around it. A reminder that he still hasn’t been pardoned by the Old Wolf; even if Geralt’s whore managed to somehow fuck his way out of a mess he fucked himself into.

Lambert’s teeth almost crack with how tightly he clenches his jaw. He’s biting down on what he wants to say – things that he’ll leer and snap at Jaskier once Vesemir has disappeared back into the shadows. But while the Old Wolf is here, Jaskier thinks this could be the best behaved the man has ever been. With a few odd slips, of course. Lambert swallows thickly. “Yes, sir.”

Vesemir arches an eyebrow. “Are you being good for Aiden?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.” The elder’s hand is a firm weight against the back of Jaskier’s throat, plunging him all the way down on to Vesemir’s cock. He fits as much of it into his mouth as he can, until the head bumps the back of his throat and he gags around it. His fingers curl into the man’s clothed thigh. Not quite a press – a break if he needed one – but taking a moment to try and pull as much breath as he can in through his nose. The languid moan that rumbles out of the man above him plumes more heat into Jaskier’s veins.

“What good boys,” he murmurs, gentling his other hand over the small of Jaskier’s back. His hips still. It takes more focus than he’s willing to admit not to let himself grind against the firm leather of the seat. There’s a dull ache straining the front of his jeans and his fingers twitch to reach down and take care of it. Vesemir’s voice hums around him, nothing more than a gentle rumble that laps over him and somehow fights through the growing rush of blood through his ears.

Vesemir’s words wash over him as he hollows his cheeks and lets his head bob up and down on the man’s length, tasting the sharp bitter taste of precum on his tongue. “Good boys who do what they’re told,” the Old Wolf breathes. The facade is starting to crack. With every brush of the head of the man’s cock to the back of Jaskier’s throat, every time Jaskier half-chokes around it as he sucks and licks what he can of the underside, Vesemir’s breath thins.

Jaskier paws at the man’s thigh, fingers curling into the taught fabric of his slacks. He’s going to wring the Old Wolf dry; send him back to his den sated and soft.

“I’ll tell Geralt all about tonight, little bird,” he purrs, “I’ll tell him how good you were; letting me fuck your throat like this. Does he like when you come back to him with your voice ruined? Hmm? _Gods_ , that’s it, boy, just a bit more. A pretty little thing; singing the loveliest songs. I’m sorry I can’t hear your voice tonight, darling. I would love to hear you moan and scream my name.”

Lambert’s knuckles turn white around the steering wheel, his fingers cramping and locking into position while he bites down on the inside of his cheek.

Jaskier’s eyes brim with tears. It’s a lot; the heavy weight of Vesemir’s length held in his mouth, the cramp in his jaw that’s slowly curling up and around the back of his head, the ache from his own cock. _Gods_ , he needs Vesemir to come. He needs him to come so that Jaskier can too; for his own sanity.

There’s a rumbled laugh above him. “Desperate little thing,” Vesemir groans, letting his head fall back against the headrest as he enjoys the tight wet heat around him, quickening in some effort to lure him to the edge faster. “You’ll get your release, boy. Don’t worry. I won’t leave you wanting.”

His eyes roll and flicker shut. He remembers what Vesemir’s fingers felt like; perched on his lap, legs parted, and completely at the mercy of the elder. Plied apart and lured to the edge of release by sure firm touches. Vesemir hands have stayed annoyingly away from where he needs them. All they’ve done is brush any small stretch of bare skin, mostly to the small of Jaskier’s back. He needs them lower, dipping down and the tips of his fingers running along the furl of his hole.

Jaskier gags around him. He’s just another wet hole for Vesemir to fuck into. The Old Wolf’s hips lift and rock, pushing his cock further into his mouth. Any sounds that manage to slip out from him are choked and wet, and Jaskier can barely hear himself over the blood rushing through his ears.

Vesemir’s fingers curl around the base of his cock, applying just enough pressure to lure a rumbling moan out of him. The hand set to the back of Jaskier’s head presses, pushing him down on to half of the man’s cock while cum streaks over his tongue. It’s abrupt and it takes a second for Jaskier to pull breath in through his nose as he swallows around the elder. Vesemir’s hips still as his cock pulses, filling Jaskier’s mouth with cum before the songbird is eventually tugged off of him.

It’s wet and messy and Jaskier swallows what he can. A string of spit pulls from the head of Vesemir’s softening cock to the plush bottom of Jaskier’s lip. Vesemir runs his thumb over Jaskier’s mouth, dipping inside after collecting whatever Jaskier missed and letting Geralt’s little bird suck on his thumb for a moment.

Even sated, golden eyes glint at him. “ _Good boy_ ,” Vesemir lulls, pulling his thumb free. Jaskier whines. He can’t swallow the sound, or press his lips together to try and catch it. A light laugh is lured out of the elder. “You did well, little bird. Geralt would be _very_ happy with you.”

Something plumes inside of his chest; something warm and tightening, threatening to constrict around his heart and lungs and choke him. Vesemir catches his chin in between his thumb and finger, tilting Jaskier’s head back just enough to let the light overhead catch the glint of spit and cum dotted under his lips and chin. Vesemir’s lips press together. “A little bit of mess, but that’s to be expected,” he hums.

His gaze drifts over Jaskier’s shoulder, something catching the gold in his eyes. “I haven’t forgotten about you, pup. You were good for me too. I’ll be sure to inform that Cat of yours all about your behaviour tonight.”

Lambert whines. It takes Jaskier a moment to gather himself and to realise what he just heard. An honest to gods _whine_ slipping out of the man’s throat. Jaskier’s tongue sits heavy in his mouth as he swallows. The taste of the other man still lingers on his tongue.

Vesemir hums. Turning back to the little bird caught in his hand, he smiles sweetly at him for a moment. “What do you think, boy?” he lulls. “Has our young wolf been well-behaved?”

_Gods_. “Yes,” he rasps, clearing his throat and wincing at how used it feels. “Yes, _sir_.”

Vesemir huffs an almost-silent laugh. “Alright,” he murmurs, sitting back against his chair and freeing Jaskier’s chin. He hangs still in limbo for a moment, unsure of what to do with himself until Vesemir’s purred words wash over him. “I think he deserves a treat then, doesn’t he?” Hooded golden eyes drift back over Jaskier’s shoulder. His order is curt. “Kiss him.”

He’s hanging off every word that spills out from Vesemir’s lips. It takes him almost a second too long to will his body into _moving_ as his ears twitch at a sharp inhale of breath from the driver’s seat. The partition spans the length of the car, and there’s more than enough room for Jaskier to lean forward and crush his lips against Lambert’s, just as the other man turns. Lambert’s beard scratches at his skin, already sparking to life with the pleasure thrumming through him.

The kiss is nothing more than tongues meeting and moans muddle between themselves. Every swipe of Lambert’s tongue into his mouth is another taste of the elder still staining Jaskier’s mouth. And he’s more than willing to share. Jaskier reaches up, catching Lambert’s jaw in his palm as he moans against his lips.

A moan that only deepens when familiar firm fingers drift along the outside of his thigh, wandering along the taught fabric of his jeans. At the first pass of Vesemir’s fingers along his skin, Jaskier whines. Lambert swallows the sound as he reaches back, curling fingers through Jaskier’s hair and keeping him close. Sharp teeth nip and catch his lips when he tries to part them for breath.

Fingers trail down to the hem of his jeans, dipping under to feel how warm his skin is underneath. Jaskier whines against Lambert’s lips, moaning brokenly as the young wolf nips at his bottom lip and lures him back into a deep kiss that is more teeth and tongue than anything else.

He’s been pulled apart; trying to focus on the lips catching his and the fist knotted into his hair, and the fingers slowly delving below the hem of his jeans, brushing along the swell of his ass. It’s not enough. He needs more. He needs those fingers _in_ him as soon as possible.

Whether more sounds slip out of him, or Vesemir had gotten good at reading his squirms and push-backs into his touches, there’s a low rumbling laugh behind him. “Hush now, don’t worry,” Vesemir rumbles, “I’m not quite done with you yet, little bird.”

**Author's Note:**

> tumblrs  
> yourqueenforayear (personal) || agoodgoddamnshot (writing)
> 
> twitter  
> @eyesupmarksman
> 
> Kudos & Comments gladly appreciated x


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